What We Can't Say
by plaidshirtjimkirk
Summary: It's clear that Jim, Spock, and McCoy are a closely knit team aboard the Enterprise. No one ever thought that would change. However, as Spock lies sedated in sickbay after a near-death experience, McCoy begins to consider where his feelings for Spock really lie, and what that means for his friendship with Jim.


A/N: This was my response for the dialog prompt "Can we pretend I didn't just say that?" for Spones, but I also worked some Spirk into it as well.

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It was all too interesting how the atmosphere of the sickbay could be transformed within moments, depending on the company present.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly what emotion was coursing through him and battering his insides in waves as his blue eyes took in the scene before him. With his bare arms crossed tightly before his blue uniform, Leonard McCoy tightened his grasp on the hypo in his hand. He stood there silently, just observing and trying to swallow then and there whatever was causing the sensation of resentment to creep up his throat.

No, it wasn't resentment, he told himself. It had to be…_irritation_, or…

McCoy's brows were pulled together slightly as he stood in the doorway, letting his icy gaze linger upon Spock, unconscious and laid out in a bio bed, with Jim sitting on a stool at his side.

That fact that Jim had decided to visit wasn't out of the ordinary; the two of them had separately wound up here on several occasions in the past for "playing games with life" as McCoy scorned—but to his discontent, that never stopped either from putting himself in harm's way once more and landing right back within these sterile walls.

In those times when either Jim or Spock was confined to sickbay, the uninjured one had always stopped by before or after shift in what was typically a brief stay just to assess the other's condition before taking his leave. However, brevity apparently wasn't in the cards this time, given how severe the situation actually was.

Spock had been under heavy sedation for twenty three hours so far, and judging from the constant elevated readouts on the wall above his head, he wouldn't be coaxed into waking up this ships night.

He should've known to expect the scene his very sleep-deprived eyes were seeing, but what McCoy observed before him made him clench his teeth behind closed lips. He found the two of them were utterly _infuriating_.

Jim had leaned forward, his head cradled in the crook of his right arm on the edge of the bed, while his left hand was attached to just above Spock's wrist. His face was turned in, away from the entrance to the room, and McCoy had no idea if he was sleeping or just in silent contemplation.

One thick, brown eyebrow rose slightly. The closeness between those two was glaringly obvious, and in fact, it hadn't ever made McCoy think twice in the past. Even if Jim had come out and admitted they were romantically together, he could've seen himself wishing them well with some southern charm and a glass of brandy.

Of course, that approval wouldn't have been expressed before delivering a long harangue about not letting their personal lives interfere with duty. Naturally, the lecture was unnecessary, but it would have given Jim some well-earned annoyance—just a little bit of payback for the amount of anxiety he caused with his captainly brashness.

Hell, it would've even been interesting to have seen how the hobgoblin himself would have acted in a relationship…to have found out if it would've melted any of the ice in those Vulcan veins.

But no, Jim apparently was content with leaving it to very open flirtation, and Spock, whether he knew it or not, played right into that. And that, to McCoy, was the most maddening point of all. He'd already resolved that he, himself, would age into a lonely old man, but his two friends didn't need to suffer the same fate.

Considering that he'd already been hurt by two marriages, he found it numbly plausible to live the rest of his life alone. However, McCoy couldn't deny that it would be pleasurable to connect romantically with someone again on a deep level—to know that it mattered very much if he made it through each away mission, and not just because he was the ship's surgeon. It wasn't something he planned on forcing again, though.

But then there were Jim and Spock, with the luxury of that natural chemistry that they appeared to both have and completely ignore. They were into each other, but not _with_ each other, and still had all the benefits of the company a relationship could bring. It must have been nice to take comfort in knowing that someone would always be aboard the Enterprise who cared enough to beeline straight to the sickbay at the finish of his shift, without even stopping to eating dinner first.

It left McCoy wondering who would be beside him if he were injured and laid up somewhere. Surely Jim, but it wouldn't be the same. The way those tawny eyes regarded him was much different from the way they did Spock, and it just made them both appear so unattainable to anyone else. Spock, on the other hand…

'_Couple of idiots_,' McCoy thought to himself, not for the first time as he intentionally shifted his attention. It was like they were just using each other for the company…like it was okay to act this way for some of the benefits it brought without the commitment.

Maybe it was just being old fashioned or his understanding of psychology, but it was something that forever irked McCoy. He wondered if Jim had just been unintentionally using Spock as a crutch in place of a significant other, and Spock, being his Vulcan self, allowed it because it wasn't emotionally draining. That, or he didn't know it was happening. Either way, it was unhealthy.

In the grand scheme of what was happening, McCoy wasn't sure why these trivial thoughts were needling at him at a time like this, but he knew one thing very well—he had been less than one minute away from having Spock die in his arms, and that was something that had shaken him to the very core.

It had him thinking much too hard in the last few hours. What would life possibly be like without that pointy-eared computer insisting he breathed and bled binary? What would happen if he never again saw Spock standing tall with his hands behind his back and wearing that enraging indifferent expression?

How difficult would it be for McCoy to live knowing the last word he ever heard from Spock was not some sassy remark, but his exclamation of, "Jim!" as he threw himself in front of the captain, shielding him from the poisonous thorns that penetrated his flesh instead.

He shut his eyes, recalling the events. It was unthinkable, the cacophony of panic in McCoy's mind as he caught Spock's limp body and cradled it on the ground. What if he had died then and there? What if they hadn't made it here in time? _What if_?

"Bones…" A soft voice stirred McCoy from his heavy thoughts. His blue eyes snapped back open and he quickly lifted his face.

Jim was still sitting at Spock's side, but he'd straightened his spine and dropped his hand that previously latched to the forearm. With tired eyes that had also seen no sleep, he was looking at McCoy over his shoulder.

"You look like hell." Such a comment would usually be accompanied with a twitch of Jim's lips; there was none this time.

"Look at yourself, Jim." In the same way, the typical sauciness in McCoy's voice was utterly absent as he delivered his reply. Jim didn't seem to react to it as McCoy approached the foot of the bed and let his eyes roam up to the monitor. "His body is still fighting the poison after all these hours." A squint. "Incredible."

Jim placed his hands on the edge of the mattress and pushed himself up to stand with a pained expression and soft groan. He immediately put pressure on the small of his back and rubbed it with both hands. "Do you have any idea how soon it'll be until the detoxification is complete?"

"His readings have fallen a little further than earlier, which is a good sign," McCoy replied as he arrived at the other side of the bed. Taking Spock's arm in his hand, he twisted it slightly so that he could locate a prime location with the most fatty tissue. There was a hiss as he injected the contents of the hypo into the area, before returning the limb to its original place.

His gaze lifted to Jim's. "M'Benga is hoping the process will be finished within eight hours, but there's really no telling. Until then, he needs to be sedated and only when he's conscious can I really assess how much damage this whole ordeal did to him."

Jim crossed his arms and nodded with a large exhale, letting his eyes drift to Spock's face. He studied it for several moments before he replied slowly with disjointed words, "Make sure you're…doing all you can. …I need him."

McCoy's weight shifted to the back of his boots and he stood a little straighter, as if he were expecting to finally hear those words. Inquisitively, he observed Jim continuing to regard Spock and missed his opportunity to speak when those hazel eyes were returned to his own.

"He's the best first officer in the fleet, after all." Jim began again in a stronger, nearly defensive tone. "That's a tremendous asset to me, to all of us."

"And he's your _friend_, of course."

Jim hadn't expected such a snappish reply and his expression hardened immediately. "Of course he's my friend." He looked down at Spock one more time before abruptly turning and strutting to the end of the bed before stopping. His eyes scanned Spock's covered legs for a brief moment. "That's the most important point of all," Jim finished quietly, as if he were speaking more to himself.

When McCoy caught his gaze one last time, it was incredibly obvious how exhausted Jim was—how _stressed_ he looked. But even through that, he still couldn't or wouldn't admit it.

"Bones, keep me updated. I want to be notified the moment there's any considerable change in his condition."

"Of course," McCoy replied gently. "Jim, you better go get some rest."

Jim managed to let the corners of his lips barely lift into a forced smile before turning and exiting the sickbay, leaving McCoy alone to stand over Spock. He remained in place there, stone-faced and his eyes fixated on the door Jim had just walked through.

"You really love him, don't you?" he muttered under his breath finally. "But you just can't say it."

Walking around the perimeter of the bed, McCoy found himself on the side with the stool and dropped onto it with a tired sigh.

"I don't know, Spock," he whispered, letting his gaze roam to the ceiling before it fell back to the angular face with its closed eyes.

McCoy cocked his head to the side and hesitantly reached forward, smoothing out the dark fringe over Spock's forehead. He had always been somewhat alluring—dark, tall, mysterious, and ever so _annoying_ with his logic—but McCoy couldn't help noting how handsome and vulnerable he appeared as he slept.

"What would I do without you, you hobgoblin?" he muttered, replacing his hand on Spock's arm. "Probably start talkin' to myself, that's what."

He paused. "But if you wake up and by some miracle you're all right, why I…" His brows pulled together, eyes squinting before widening as he realized the truth of the words he was speaking. "I might just kiss you."

The room was entirely silent, except for the typical background noise of the ship in transit and the soft beat of the sensor measuring Spock's readings. But more than that, McCoy was suddenly completely aware of a pounding heartbeat in his ears as he continued to stare down at Spock's face with that pair of shapely Vulcan lips. What in the hell was he _thinking_?

"…Can we pretend I didn't just say that?" he asked uneasily to the unconscious man lying before him.

As Jim had done earlier, McCoy leaned forward, resting his chin against his inner elbow. Nearly losing Spock had affected him much deeper than he even realized—to the point of recognizing a few things he wished he hadn't.

Maybe that's what Jim was thinking earlier, as he was quietly sitting here. Maybe it took Spock being seconds away from dying to force both of them to realize how much he meant to them.

And if it were true—McCoy closed his eyes—that would be trouble. After all, nothing could put a rift through best friends quicker than a rivalry.

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"Doctor McCoy."

McCoy's spine shot up so quickly that he nearly fell off the stool. His hands flew forward and grasped to whatever they could in front of him to keep him from tipping over and crashing to the floor.

He blinked twice at the man sitting up before him, trying to kick his brain into motion before exclaiming, "Spock!" He blinked hard once more for good measure. "You're awake!"

Immediately, McCoy's blue eyes fixed to the readings on the wall, finding they were almost completely normal. And that's when he realized where he was—that he had fallen asleep with his head cradled in his arms on the side of the mattress for who knows how many hours.

"Yes," Spock replied nonchalantly, cocking his head to the side at such an obvious remark.

In his fit of flailing to stay on the stool, McCoy had latched on to Spock's nearest arm, and he squeezed it once before letting go. Reaching into a pocket, he procured his medical scanner and began hovering it above the thin Vulcan frame, finding nothing but favorable results.

"Do you remember what happened? The away mission?"

Spock nodded. "Indeed. I suppose the nature of the wounds were rather serious, considering my present location."

"_Rather serious_?! Spock, you were almost dead!" McCoy nearly shouted, balling his fists. "You were badly poisoned and I was keeping you sedated, praying that the detox process would be enough to keep you healthy. By God, I can't believe you woke up without some form of medical intervention!"

"Ah yes. It was quite curious," Spock began. "I was experiencing a strange dream in which you were trying to tell me something. I was then brought to consciousness by a pleasing scent."

McCoy squinted, as he realized how close his face had been to Spock's pillow. Was it possible that he had smelled his hair? His blue eyes widened a little. Did he actually _hear_ what he said to him hours ago?

"Well, Spock, I," he began. "I'm not sure what to tell you about any of that, but we've got tests to run. I'll go comm Jim and M'Benga so you just sit tight. No trying to get up, ya hear!"

As McCoy stood and started walking to his desk in the other room, he stopped in his tracks, looking over his shoulder. "And by the way, Spock." His voice dropped a little softer. "…It's good to have you back."

All he received in reply was one dark eyebrow lifting. Somehow, that tiny action alone was enough.

When he arrived at his desk, McCoy couldn't help thinking that maybe—after feeling so irritated at Jim's inability to voice his feelings for Spock—just maybe, he wasn't so different, after all.

After looking into those trusting brown eyes again, it wasn't something that could be spoken on just a whim; no, it had to be meaningful and real. It certainly required more thought than the careless spilling of a confession which could light the universe on fire and burn it to ashes.

But that was a matter for another time. For now, McCoy had his duty to perform, and as the legendary CMO of the Enterprise, he would do just that.

"McCoy to Captain Kirk. Jim, he's awake."


End file.
